“Yes. I saw you. I see you.”
“But you didn’t want to.” She lowers herself with a quiet sigh. “Too much of a complication.”
“You were seventeen.”
“I’m not talking about two years ago.” Rise up. “I’m talking about now.” Slide down. “It’s awful to want something you’re not allowed to have, isn’t it?”
“I’m sorry. There was so much to lose.” I move my hand to my thigh.
“Don’t,” she snaps. “Don’t touch yourself. You need to know what it feels like to be me. Always on the outside.” She circles her clit. “Wanting to be wanted.” Her eyes fall closed. “But believing the person you want will never want you back.”
She shudders, and in true Lavender form, she ducks her head and whimpers quietly as her entire body convulses. Because she’s coming.
But she hides it.
Like she hides everything.
Her wants. Her needs. Her anger. Her hurt.
Until tonight.
Silence follows, heavy and thick with lust and something that terrifies me. My dick is so hard, it hurts, but there’s no way on God’s green earth that I’m going to ask for anything right now.
Slowly, Lavender unfurls, rising up. The wet suction sound is excessive and loud. She stumbles a few steps, finds her balance, and crosses the room. Grabbing her robe from the back of her door, she shrugs it on and flips the lock.
“Get out.”
I uncurl my fingers from the armrest and push out of the chair. I have to rearrange myself, and even that contact almost makes me blow my load. “Lavender.” Her name is guttural—a plea, an apology.
Her eyes shift from the open door to me, hard and angry. “I hope all the suffering was worth it. If you really want me, I guess you’re going to have to find a way to deserve me.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Suffer with Me Silently
Lavender
Present day
I WAKE UP the next morning, and immediately my mind goes to what I did last night. I might have some kind of weird fetish, considering the way I got off on making Kodiak watch me get off. My thighs clench, and I grimace. I’d say I need to do more squats, but I’m unlikely to follow through on that.
I scrub a hand over my face, aware that I have to deal with Kodiak and whatever this new development is in our relationship. I’m still trying to get over the fact that he spent half a decade avoiding me and the past several months being a giant asshole because he was afraid to ruin me. I’m unsure if that’s narcissistic, sweet, or something else entirely. Although, when I factor in my conversations with my mom and Queenie, I guess it all kind of makes sense.
I don’t have class, but I want to stop by the theater and work on a project this morning, so I get dressed and prepare to face whoever I may run into in the kitchen. Hopefully everyone is already out of the house or still sleeping.
I should be so lucky.
Sitting at the kitchen table, with a massive textbook laid out in front of him, is Kodiak. He’s wearing a Seattle hockey T-shirt that probably once belonged to his dad, based on how worn it is. In the short time he’s been living here, I’ve never seen him study in the kitchen, or anywhere that isn’t his room.
The fact that there’s a box of Lucky Charms, a bowl, a spoon, coconut milk, and a canister of something I can’t identify because it’s half-hidden by the cereal box, tells me the studying is likely a ruse.
He looks up from his textbook when I open the cupboard to retrieve a mug. My nondairy creamer is already on the counter, along with the organic agave syrup and a carafe of pressed coffee.
“The coffee’s fresh.” His voice is a low, quiet rumble that pours over me like warm butter.
I don’t respond, because it’s not a statement that requires one. I fill my mug and add creamer and syrup, stirring for far longer than is necessary. I’m mentally fortifying myself for whatever is about to happen. Will he go back to being an asshole? Will he say something horrible about what I did last night? Or is he going to magically be the Kodiak I once loved?
I turn to face him, the mug raised to my lips, sort of like a shield.
“Hey.” He pushes back his chair and stands. He runs his hand through his hair, eyes moving over me in a slow sweep that makes me feel as naked as I was last night. He licks his lips and motions to the bowl and cereal. “I thought you might be hungry.”
“Yeah, I worked up quite an appetite last night.” Normally my sarcasm isn’t this on point first thing in the morning, but I’m deflecting some fairly intense embarrassment.
Kodiak cough-chokes, but doesn’t comment otherwise.
I move the bowl and spoon to the chair across from him, rather than the one beside him, to avoid any potential physical contact. I pull out the chair and sit, somewhat gingerly.
Kodiak looks like he wants to say something, or ask something, but doesn’t know how or what so he sits back down and says nothing. He also looks tired, as though he didn’t sleep well—unlike me, who slept like a damn baby. It was the same kind of passed-out-like-the-dead sleep I have post-extended panic attack. And I suppose in a lot of ways, it was, because I’d spent a lot of years believing one thing was true, only to be told something else entirely last night.
I figure blasé is pretty much the only way I can play this without having some kind of epic, girl-style fit that may or may not include screaming and possibly crying.
“Rough night?” I ask as I shake cereal into my bowl.
Kodiak is in the middle of a sip of coffee, which he sprays all over his textbook. He coughs a couple of times and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Seriously, Lavender?”
I shrug and reach for the coconut milk. “You look tired.”
“Yeah, well, I had a lot to think about.” He pushes the other container toward me.
I spin it around so I can read the label. “Cereal marshmallows?”
“You eat all the ones out of the Lucky Charms, so it’s pretty much Alpha-Bits by the time you’re done. I figured this would make the boxes last longer, and you can adjust the marshmallow-to-cereal ratio.” His cheeks flush, and the table shakes, likely because his foot is going on the floor.
“You think cereal marshmallows are going to make up for years of lies and you being a giant asshole to me?”
He flips his textbook closed and clasps his hands on the table. His expression is pained. “Are we unfixable?”
“I don’t know, Kodiak.”
He goes still and silent. His eyes fall closed, and I watch his chest rise slowly to the count of four, his breath leaving him even slower through slightly parted lips. It feels like all the air is suddenly sucked out of the room.
So much pain swims in his northern-light eyes when he opens them. “Can we try?”
“Try what exactly?”
“To be something again?”
“I won’t go back to how it was. I don’t want to be that girl ever again, and you can’t undo damage that’s already been done.”
He nods. “I don’t want it to be like it was before either. And I don’t think it can be, because you’re not the same. I mean, last night you were—”
I arch a brow, and he drops his head, blowing out a long breath before he shifts course. “Maybe we could try to be something better, something . . . equal?”